


how many secrets can you keep?

by xxPayne



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Conflict, but there's no religion bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:18:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3274733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxPayne/pseuds/xxPayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, a homophobic Christian, joins Louis' gay-straight alliance club at school, hoping to somehow attract lesbians (he'll work out the logistics later). Louis shows him what he didn't know he was actually there for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how many secrets can you keep?

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally based on a really old prompt from larrystylinsmut (which I'm sure someone has filled by now), but I couldn't find it and I'm sure I deviated from the prompt by a lot anyway.  
> (Also, warning for a minor character having cancer, but no deaths occur in this story.)

Usually, when Harry sees the rainbow colored poster board advertising the GSA club, he ignores it or makes a joke if his friends are nearby. Today, though, he sees two girls standing in front of it, and gets an idea. He walks up to them and smiles cheekily, asking them if they're joining the gay-straight alliance.

  
They look at each other and say, “Yeah, why? Are you?”

  
Harry glances at the sign, shrugging, “Sure. What're your names?”

  
“I'm Danielle,” the darker girl says, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. “This is my girlfriend, Eleanor.” she motions to the other girl, who is currently putting her hair up in a bun.

  
“Harry,” he says, shaking her hand and holding it just a second too long. Danielle doesn't seem to notice, because she turns back around to her girlfriend and smiles at Harry.

  
“This is so great, I'm so glad more people are joining. Last year we only had six members, even counting us,” Eleanor says, “Not much happened last year, but I know this year will be better, with Louis running it. Oh, speaking of, Dani, did you see him today?”

  
“No, why?”

  
Harry stays silent while he watches them converse, rethinking his idea. Obviously if they're dating each other, they won't want to have sex with him. Still, straight girls flock to these clubs like moths to a fire, so he thinks it'll be worth it.

  
He's still thinking when he hears Eleanor say something like, “I think him and Grimmy are having problems.”

  
“When aren't they?” Danielle laughs. Harry doesn't care enough to ask what they're talking about. The bell is about to ring, so he tells the girls goodbye, promising them that he'll be at the first meeting on Monday.

 

He sort of smirks when he sees Eleanor kiss Danielle quickly before parting ways, and thinks, yeah, this will be good.

  
❤

  
Come Monday morning, Harry finds himself crammed in a classroom the size of a storage closet. It's down in the basement, so there are no windows, and it's so stuffy and hot that Louis, the group leader, is late to the stupid meeting because he's lugging a giant fan down the crowded hallways after school.

  
There is a surprisingly large amount of students in here with Harry, all sitting criss-cross on the floor like hippies. Harry had refused as politely as he could, pulling up a low to the ground chair and sitting in it uncomfortably. Eventually, when even more people come in, Harry thinks, fuck it, and sits on the floor too.

  
Fifteen minutes after the meeting was supposed to start, a small boy walks in, dragging, as promised, a huge fucking fan behind him. If this is Louis, the taller, larger boy trailing after him must be his boyfriend, 'Grimmy'. Even though Harry does not support gays, he finds it rude how Grimmy makes the tiny one carry it all by himself. Harry isn't a total dick, he'd help him if he were there.

  
“Sorry!” this Louis character squeaks, flicking on the fan and setting it on top of a desk so that it's pointing towards the group at large. “We had to walk all the way to the J wing janitor closet!”

  
Only then does Louis look up. Harry is caught off guard instantly, physically wavering in his firm spot on the ground. His eyes are so blue, and his skin is so golden, and his hair is so—no, Harry thinks, absolutely not. He is a straight, Republican, Christian male who is here only to pick up birds. Not lads. Certainly not Louis.

  
“Okay, anyway,” Louis says, clapping his hands. He settles himself on the fringed carpet too, which is not what Harry was expecting, so he'd left barely any space next to him. So of course that's where Louis chooses to sit. “I'm Louis, and wow—I wasn't expecting so many people.”

  
The group titters, which Harry doesn't understand because Louis didn't say anything particularly funny.

  
“So, um, today's meeting is only forty five minutes long, and I've already taken up a lot,” Louis says, pouting just slightly. Not that Harry was staring at his lips or anything. “We can just introduce ourselves today, I guess. Anyone want to start?”

  
A girl with white-blonde hair raises her hand, her nose ring glinting in the shitty florescent lighting above them. “I'm Perrie,” she says, popping her gum. “I'm bi.”

  
There's a girl sitting next to her, their hands interlocked and resting on the floor. She says her name next. “'M Jade, and I guess I'm bi too?”

  
Then there's a boy named Luke or Liam or Leo or something and his boyfriend Zayn, who Harry doesn't pay any attention to because he's not gay, so why should he? Eleanor and Danielle are next, then Grimmy (who's name is actually Nick, apparently), a straight girl named Barbara and her boyfriend Niall, and then a couple other guys and two lesbians Harry doesn't care to learn what they're called.

  
His plan is backfiring, because they're all in relationships, or aren't interested in Harry's gender, or Harry isn't interested in their gender. (Plus, there's a 'straight girl' in there, who Harry is pretty sure has a penis pressing up through her tight pink skirt.)

  
When he realizes that everyone is staring at him, Harry says, “M' names Harry and I'm straight.”

  
He can see Louis do a double take out of the corner of his eye, and it takes every bit of self control he possesses to not snap his neck right then and there. He's straight. Bloody straight. Why is that surprising?

“Um, well, welcome everyone!” Louis says happily. “We've st—”

  
“You have twenty five minutes left,” comes a scratchy voice from the other side of the room. Harry jumps, turning to look at who's there.

  
“Thanks, Mrs. Jensen,” Louis says slowly, like he's gritting his teeth. “Anyway, um, I'm ordering t-shirts, and I want to know what color they should be and what they should say.”

  
Harry rolls his eyes, praying to God they won't be rainbow tie dyed with 'we like it up the butt' written in glittery comic sans font. He wouldn't put it past them. He doesn't want a t-shirt with anything ridiculous on it, so he raises his hand and says, “They should be white. Plain white. Please, dear God, do not make them anything other than white.”

  
Frowning, Louis opens his mouth and then shuts it again. “Uh, okay. But I think we should make them a bit flashier, you know? Because we have to raise a lot of money from the car wash.”

  
“What car wash?” Harry asks confusedly. Everyone looks at him like he's dumb, making his eyes widen just a bit. He slouches a bit more.

  
“The annual school car wash!” Louis says excitedly. “Every year the school chooses a club to run it, and this year we finally have enough people to qualify. Didn't you read the posters before you signed up for this?” he looks genuinely curious, like he's studying Harry.

  
“Um, not really,” Harry says. He feels like the reason he's here is quite obvious. “I still say white.”

  
Someone giggles and says, “When white gets wet you can see through everyone's shirts.”

  
Someone else, “Oh, so it's that kind of car wash.”

  
Harry groans under his breath, sort of wishing he'd never come to this dumb GSA meeting. He'd lied to his father for this bullshit.

  
“Guys,” Louis admonishes. “I'm sure Harry just likes the color white.”

  
“More like I don't like the color rainbow,” Harry mutters so no one can hear him.

  
“What was that?” Luke or Leo or Liam asks, looking challenging. Harry knows him, he's realizing, because he'd tried out for the football team but ended up having to quit because of a health issue. It's Liam, he remembers.

  
“Nothing,” Harry says quickly, because he doesn't exactly fancy getting beat up on behalf of the gay community today. “We don't have to have white t-shirts.”  
“That's the spirit, Hazza!” Louis blushes when he realizes what he said. “Sorry, I have a habit of giving people nicknames. Anyway, I was thinking, like, a neon color maybe? I don't know, what do you think will attract attention?”

  
“Explosions,” a guy says from the other end of the circle. “Explosions and fire.”

  
Louis frowns and says, “Erm, we can't have explosions and fire on our t-shirts. It's a car wash.”

  
“Let's skip the t-shirts and make everyone wear dresses!” shouts Barbara.

  
Louis giggles, “That would be fun.”

  
Harry wants to start searching for the nearest gun store so he can shoot his own brains out. He wants to go home, curl up in bed, and stare at his framed picture of a half-naked playboy bunny, because he's straight and he doesn't want to wear a dress because he's straight.

  
Thankfully, Louis shoots down the idea because it will give people the wrong idea, making them think they can only join if they're cross dressers. “Not that there's anything wrong with cross dressers!” Louis is quick to add on.

  
The meeting ends sometime after that, when they've decided on neon pink shirts. Harry wants to gag, but at least he gets to go home.

  
❤

  
The next GSA meeting is even more gay, if that's possible. And not even the good kind, Harry thinks. Because this meeting is two hours long, for whatever reason. Harry doesn't bother asking, because he probably won't even be here for the full thing. He's supposed to go to church with his father after he's done 'studying at his friend's house' which is what he told him he was doing.

  
“Today is all about planning. Next week we get to do fun things, but for now we have to buckle down and get to work,” Louis says, ever cheerful even though Nick, his boyfriend, had said, 'fuck this bullshit' and walked out the classroom door as soon as he'd walked in. He soldiers on. “First order of business—picking a date for the wash.”  
No one has any specific ideas, so Louis suggests, “What about Saturday the fifteenth and Sunday the sixteenth next month? We can run from, um, seven thirty am to five at night? Is everyone free?”

  
Harry closes his eyes and wants to groan. Loudly. He's about to raise his hand and say something about church, but Liam beats him to it. “Actually, Sunday morning won't work because I'll be at church. And you might get less customers anyway, because some people will be there too.”

  
Harry looks over at Liam, where he's holding hands with his boyfriend, and rethinks everything for a second. The thing is, he didn't know gay people were Christians too. He just never thought about it, really, because the bible condemns them and so does the Pastors, so why would they have faith?

  
“What?” Liam asks. Harry realizes he was staring and looks away.

  
He doesn't pay much attention for the rest of the meeting. His father texts him when there's about forty minutes left of it, and so he has to slowly get up and avoid everyone's eyes as he leaves the room. Louis is staring at him especially, so he just whispers, “I have to go,” and walks out.

  
His father is waiting for him in the church parking lot when he gets there. They walk in together, ignoring everyone's looks of sympathy as they make their way to the pews. Harry knows why they're staring at him, but he doesn't want to think about it.

  
The Pastor does a quick sermon and then they're being let out, everyone filing out of the church quickly. Always somewhere to be. Harry's father stays behind, talking to the Pastor, accepting his sympathy. Harry just wants to go home, see his mum.

  
When Harry does get home, he goes straight upstairs to his mum's bedroom. The door is open, and he can see their housekeeper, Nadia, sitting next to his mum's bed, reading her a book.

  
“Hey, Nadia,” Harry says quietly. His mum tries to lift her head, but leaves it lying down on her pillow in the end, too fragile to do it. Nadia smiles, nodding in greeting. She finishes her sentence in the book, and then dog-ears it, leaving the room to give them privacy.

  
“How was Pastor Andrew?” his mum rasps, coughing a bit.

  
“Good,” Harry says. “He's good. Father talked to him. You'll have to ask him what he said, though.”

  
She smiles slightly, already knowing what he'd said. It was always the same. (“My condolences,” or “I'm sorry,” or “I'll pray for you and your family,”)  
“Have you made a new friend?” she asks, looking at her son.

  
“What?” Harry asks.

  
“A new friend. You've been gone after school a few days this week.”

  
“Oh,” Harry says. He knows he can tell his mum, just not Father. She won't tell him, he doesn't think. “Erm, no, I joined a club, actually.”

  
“Yeah?” she says. “What club?”

  
Harry sighs. “It's not important. How are you feeling?”

  
“You know,” she waves her hand a little, but it doesn't rise much from the sheets. “Same old.”

  
Harry knows that means she's feeling bad. Very bad. She's too strong to admit it, though, so Harry thinks he'll slip a few more pain killers into her plethora of pills to take before bed. It seems like the doctors prescribe more and more every day, trying to add more time to her life.

  
“Tell Nadia to come back in, yeah?” his mum says when Harry starts to get up. “That book is just getting exciting.”

  
Nodding, Harry kisses her forehead and frowns when he feels her high temperature. It's the chemo therapy, he knows. She always gets sick from it. Sometimes its hard to believe that it even helps at all, but if she's ever going to get better, it'll be because of the chemo.

  
When Harry walks back downstairs, he sees his father sorting through the mail. Sighing, Harry says, “More cards?”

  
His father nods, handing one over. “Aunt Sharon had the audacity to give us one that says 'get well soon'. And look at this one,” he hands Harry another.  
I'm sorry for your (future) loss.

  
“They fucking wrote future on it?” Harry says, fuming with pent up anger. “Who sent this?”

  
“Your mum's cousin Jerry.”

  
“I'll kick his ass,” Harry growls, ripping the card in half and throwing it in the waste bin.

  
“Kind of hard to, when he lives on the other side of the country. 'sides, I'd do it myself if I could.”

  
❤

 

Harry isn't in the mood for this fucking gay fest. Not today, not after he had to help his mum into a wheelchair, get her to the hospital, only for them to say, “The chemo is working well enough,” and then say that they can't do anything else at the moment.

  
Apparently everyone has had a wonderful day, though, because they're all smiling and kissing each other and cracking jokes. Harry crosses his arms and stares intently at a little lady bug that's somehow gotten into this classroom, making it's way across the carpet like a curious child exploring the big wide jungle.

  
“This is so exciting,” Louis says, clapping his hands and grinning. Nick hasn't been to a single meeting since that one day, but Louis just seems happier without him. It's interesting, if nothing else. “This is our last meeting before the car wash, and then the rest of our meetings will be full of fun and practically no work or higher thinking.”  
Everyone laughs, Harry frowns, staring at the ladybug even harder. It flaps out it's tiny little wings, but doesn't fly.

  
“The only thing we have to do today is get our shifts in order, so we aren't all there at the same time,” Louis says. “Who wants the after school Friday shift?”

  
Harry stays silent, because he'd much rather be at home with his mum than do this dumb car wash. He doesn't even know what they're raising the money for. Louis' mentioned it before, he's sure, but Harry couldn't have cared less.

  
“We'll take it, I guess,” Zayn says, motioning towards Liam. When Harry looks closer at Zayn's tattoos, he can see a girl on his arm that looks suspiciously like Perrie. He's only then remembering how they used to date, before they both realized they were in love with their best friends of the same gender. It was a big scandal for a while, because gossip travels fast in a small school. Everyone forgot about it eventually, though.

  
Harry doesn't listen to Louis again until he's asking who wants the Saturday morning shift.

  
“I do,” Harry says instantly, because that's when his mum is always retching endlessly into the toilet, his father rubbing her back and crying, and it always wakes Harry up, so he'd rather be awake and out of the house anyway.

  
He thinks he hears someone say, “Won't you be too hung over from partying all Friday night?” followed by snickers. It isn't true. He never parties anymore, not since his mum got sick. Not that anyone knows that, because they're still talking about that time Harry streaked down the hallway because he was still drunk from that one wild party at his buddy's house.

  
“Shut the fuck up,” Harry says instantly, searching for whoever said it. No one gives it up, so Harry shakes his head and mutters some expletives under his breath, deciding it isn't worth it.

  
Louis looks near-horrified. “Whoever said that needs to leave, right now,” it's easy to tell that he's royally pissed. Harry knows not to mess with him. “That's completely uncalled for, and I won't tolerate it in this room.”

  
All of the girls feign innocence, knowing that it was clearly a girl that said it. In the end, no one admits to it, so Louis is forced to let it go.

  
It isn't long before it happens again, though. Harry doesn't even know what provoked it, because he'd been blocking everyone out, watching as the ladybug continued to stretch it's wings and then ultimately fly out the door. Somehow, though, a girl says, “Why don't we ask the only douche bag in the room?”

  
And then everyone is looking at Harry like they're waiting for a movie to start, and he just can't do this. He can't be the bigger person. He can't make his mum proud this time.

“You don't fucking know me.” he says.

  
“Yeah?” the girl says. It's clear now who was doing it, one of the lesbians he didn't care to remember their name. “Think I know enough to say you're a complete douche.”

  
“No you fucking don't,” Harry grits his teeth in one last attempt to keep calm.

  
“Exhibit A, you're here, right now, at this gay club because you wanted to pick up chicks!” she cries, waving her arms around. Louis is background noise, yelling at them to stop. “If that doesn't scream douche bag, then I don't know what does!”

  
“I wasn't—fuck you, I can do what I want!” Harry yells back, brain too fried to think of a good come back.

  
“Shall I say more? Because I fucking can,” she growls. Somehow they've both decided to stand up, Harry towering over the girl. She doesn't let it bother her.

  
“Sure, say more,” Harry challenges. At this point, he's not fully sure if he's trying to prove his own point, that he isn't a douche, or if he's trying to stack more reasons to hate himself onto his ever-growing list. It's like he's more angry with himself than this poor girl, who's only telling the truth. Albeit, in a rude manner. But. True.

  
“Fine,” she says. “You made Kelly Bergland cry just last week when you called her an attention whore because she said her mum is dying.”

  
“I didn't mean to,” Harry says, tears prickling in his eyes. He's long since stopped yelling. “It's—her mum wasn't dying. She could get better, it wasn't—it wasn't definite.”

  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she screeches. “It wasn't definite?”

  
Harry is scrambling for something to say, and it doesn't seem to matter at all that when Kelly ran out of the room crying, Harry had run after her, telling her about his own mum, and they'd stayed in the hallway talking about it for the rest of the hour. Kelly's mum had been in the hospital after a car accident, in a coma, but they doctors said she'd wake up. Kelly had forgiven him, but this girl didn't know that.

  
“It's—her mum is—I'm sorry, okay?”

  
“Guys!” Louis yells, hands on his hips and looking ready to explode. “Sit down and stop talking or I'll have to kick you out of this club.”

  
“I-I'm sor-sorry,” Harry mutters, furiously wiping away embarrassing tears as he fast-walks out of the room. Amazingly, Mrs. Jensen, the supervisor, has kept quiet this whole time, and he's starting to think she may be deaf. It's enough to distract him a bit, so that he doesn't start sobbing in the middle of this fucking damp basement/hallway/piece of shit.

  
He can hear footsteps behind him, and prays to God that it isn't Louis. Or the girl, he supposes.

  
“Harry?” of course it's Louis. “H-Harry, are you okay?”

  
Harry forces himself to not say, 'what do you think?' and then run away again. Instead, he turns around to face him and says, “Listen, I didn't mean to—I didn't mean to ruin your meeting or whatever.”

  
“I don't think you're a bad person,” Louis says, like it's just slipped out of his mouth on accident. “And it's okay that you yelled. Well, not. Not really. Please don't do it again. But I'm not cross with you. Do you want to talk about something?”

  
The only person Harry has talked to about his mum is Kelly and the Pastor, so maybe. Maybe he does want to talk to Louis about something.

  
“My mum has cancer,” Harry says quickly, before he can even think about what he's saying. “I want the morning shift at the car wash so I don't have to hear her puking when I wake up. She's—the doctors say they can't do anything to help her. People are already sending flowers and cards and—it's so fucked up, Louis.”

  
Louis blinks and the opens his arms like he's going in for a hug, but then catches himself and drops them back to his sides. “I'm so sorry,” he says, trying to comfort him the best he can. “I don't blame you for going off. Not when you've got a much better reason than Lydia.”

  
Lydia must be the lesbian, then.

  
“C-Can—no, never mind,” Harry stops himself, because he was about to ask for something dumb and stupid. He looks down at the floor, feet pointed in towards each other, curls drooping helplessly like they can sense his feelings and want to match how he feels inside.

  
“You can ask me for anything,” Louis says softly, trying to maintain eye contact.

  
Harry looks up just barely, peeking out from behind his eyelashes. Awkwardly, he opens his arms like Louis had done just a few minutes before. “H-Hug?” he asks in a small voice, like a child.

  
Smiling, Louis steps forward, prompting Harry to collapse into his arms. He's not crying anymore, but he feels like he could because Louis is so warm, and so nice, and so pretty, but he's also so boy. He's too busy thinking about what his father would think, what his mum would think, what the church would think, his friends, the world, everyone, to worry about what he himself thinks, and for the first time in years, he's starting to feel like that's a problem. So he shoves his face in Louis' neck and ignores the world for just a while.

  
When they pull apart, Harry's breath catches in his throat, and before he knows what he's saying, his lips are forming the words, “Your eyes are really pretty.”

  
Thankfully, Louis doesn't seem creeped out when he says, “Why thank you, Haz.”

  
Harry realizes what he's doing and pulls away quickly. He clears his throat once, twice, three fucking times, before it finally stops feeling so fuzzy. His breathing is labored, like he's just run a marathon. It's embarrassing because he's straight, really, and he'd only hugged Louis anyway, so even if he did like Louis (which he doesn't), a hug isn't something you pop a boner from after the age of thirteen.

  
“I should—I should go. Apologize,” Harry says, gesturing towards the classroom.

  
Louis waves his hand. “I'll take care of it. And don't worry, I won't tell her anything you told me, unless you want me to.”

  
Shrugging, Harry says helplessly, “You can tell her. I mean, how else could you say sorry and make her believe it?”

  
Louis gives him a small smile and pats Harry on the arm. “You good for the rest of the meeting? You can go home if you want, I won't be cross,” he says, eyes showing compassion that Harry's never seen look so genuine, not even in his Pastor's eyes. “I promise.”

  
He shakes his head and starts walking back to the classroom, hoping Louis will get the idea and follow him. He does, while flicking his hair and looking all around sexy as hell. No, Harry thinks, it isn't gay to think that a guy is attractive. Just like it isn't incest to think your cousin is hot. They're just thoughts. (Harry plans on making a confession to the Church later that evening. Maybe that will help.)

  
The classroom is silent when Harry walks in. Everyone looks up at him with curious, somewhat hostile, eyes. Louis and Harry take their previous places on the ground. After a beat of silence, Louis says, “So, anyway, like I was saying before the interruption,” he doesn't point his voice like all Harry's teachers would've, just says it like 'this happened, let's move on' and Harry likes that. A lot. “We need a way to stop people from acting homophobically at the car wash. Any ideas?”

  
No one really suggests anything, except for one guy jokingly saying they should hire a body guard. Louis sighs and says, “Maybe our shirts shouldn't be pink.”

  
Harry hates how sad he looks, so he says, “No, they should be. Bright pink. Yeah,” He's sort of cringing as he says it, because he really doesn't want to wear pink t-shirts, but if it will get that look off Louis' face, he will. Not gay, just making someone happy, Harry reasons.

  
Louis smiles brightly, but there's a glint in his eyes like he knows something Harry doesn't. Harry ignores it, trying to find the ladybug that he was watching earlier. It's gone.  
The GSA meetings always seem to go by fast once Harry's checked out, so he finds himself reading the dumb inspirational posters hung on the wall to pass the time. Louis is soon calling the meeting to an end, and he says some joke that Harry doesn't bother to listen to. Harry doesn't say anything as he leaves the room, just smiles at Louis a little when he goes to talk to Lydia for him.

  
When Harry gets in his car, he sends a quick text to his father saying he's going to talk to the Pastor before he comes home, and then he drives straight to church.  
Stepping inside Pastor Andrew's office brings back memories of when his mum was healthy; when they would come in to pray for people, or to donate money to one of the many charities the church runs, or to just talk to Pastor Andrew, because he is quite a nice man. He almost leaves because it hurts so bad knowing that his mum can only get out of bed to go to the doctors anymore. She wishes she could go to church still, but she's much too weak from all the chemo.

  
“Harry Styles?” Pastor Andrew says when he sees the curly-haired boy knocking on his office door. “Come in, come in, I haven't talked to you in a while.”

  
Harry closes the door behind him, settling himself in one of the plush chairs in front of Pastor Andrew's desk. He's scared to speak, for fear that this nice man will suddenly transform into something awful, performing exorcisms on him or something, like you see on the news.

  
“What are you here for, Harry?” Pastor Andrew asks. “Is it your mother? I've been praying every night for her, God bless her soul.”

  
“No, it's—it's not about her. But, thank you. For praying for her. I have been, but she's just getting sicker, I think,” Harry's breath catches a little, but he's not going to cry twice in one day.

  
Pastor Andrew nods sympathetically. Harry shakes his head and says, “Anyway, that's, um. There's nothing I can do about it. I just have a question, I guess.”

  
“Ask anything,” Pastor Andrew says, folding his hands on the top of his desk.

  
Harry takes a deep breath and looks down, cheeks coloring with shame. He's scared to say anything for fear that it will come true. “Do you—If I think that, if I see a guy, and—and I think he's really. Well, attractive, does that—is that a sin?”

  
He peeks up a little bit under his curls to see the Pastor's reaction. It isn't a necessarily good one.

  
“Harry,” Pastor Andrew says slowly. “How long have you had these feelings of attraction?”

  
“I, I guess about a month,” Harry says, thinking back to the first day he saw Louis. This isn’t necessarily true, as he distinctly remembers telling his mum, when he was just seven years old and she was still healthy, that he doesn’t want a wife, he wants a husband.

  
“You've got a lot of stress going on in your life, don't you, Harry?” Pastor Andrew asks. Harry nods hesitantly. “Yes, you do. Your mother is very sick, which is obviously very upsetting. You're looking for an outlet for your emotions, and homosexuality seems to be a scapegoat. To get rid of these thoughts, pray for forgiveness, pray often, and try your hardest to cut out some of the stress in your life.”

  
“Pastor, I-I already pray twice a day,” Harry says, because it's true. Every morning and every night. “I can't pray more than I do now.”

  
“Sure you can,” he says, nodding with a grim look on his face. “I pray four times a day, some days, if I'm feeling overwhelmed or if a member of the church is going through tough times.”

  
“O-Oh,” Harry says. He thinks about praying at lunch, in front of everyone, and immediately dismisses the idea. The school isn't a Christian school, they'd never let it go without making fun of him every day. Taunting him for his faith. “Thank you, Pastor Andrew.”

  
“You're welcome, Harry,” he answers. “And if your homosexual thoughts continue, come see me again and we'll work something out.”

  
Harry nods, but he knows that he won't. He's not going to let his father find out about this, and he's definitely not going to some pray-the-gay-away camp. He's not gay. Pastor Andrew holds out his hands for a prayer, so Harry puts his large hands into his, shutting his eyes tightly. He prays over and over again that he's right, that he only likes Louis so much because his mum is dying and he needs something to cling to. It makes him wonder, though, why he isn't clinging to another mother figure, or at least a girl, because Harry doesn't feel like he's a fickle person. He doesn't think he'd switch sexualities just because of his mum.

  
He doesn't bother voicing these thoughts out loud, because he'll only have to sit through Pastor Andrew trying to re-instill a faith in Harry that he already has.

  
“Have a good night,” Harry mumbles, leaving the church and driving back home. His father assumes that he was there to talk about his mum, so he doesn't ask him why he went to see Pastor Andrew. He goes straight to his bedroom, flopping down on his mattress despondently. He doesn't feel any different, and just thinking about Louis is enough to get him hard, so Harry has a quick, guilty wank. When he spills all over his fingers, it's with thoughts of thick thighs and a round bum and bright blue eyes sparkling beneath Harry, thin lips stretching around moans and whimpers. Harry isn't gay, though. He's not.

  
❤

  
On the day of the car wash, Harry throws on his neon pink t-shirt that they'd received at the last meeting and then goes to see his mum in her room. She's sitting up, flicking through a magazine. A good day, then—she's not even puking.

  
“Hey, honey,” she smiles, face wrinkling around the edges. “Are you going out?”

  
“Yeah,” Harry says. “We're doing a fundraiser, for the club that I joined. I'll only be there for a couple hours, and then I can take you to your doctors appointment.”

  
She waves a hand dismissively. “Your father will take me. Go have fun, sweetie.”

  
Harry smiles and hugs her lightly, feeling underneath him how much weight she's lost. It's the chemo that makes it so she can't keep anything down, he knows.

  
He sort of expects to be alone when he gets to the car wash, but quickly realizes how dumb that would be. A car wash isn't a one man show, not when you've got to do all the washing by hand. Thankfully, he isn't the only one parked next to the giant banner with “CAR WASH” written in large—fucking glittery—letters. When he gets out of his car, he sees nearly everyone that's even in the club hovering around in front of the banner idly, including Zayn and Liam, Niall but not his girlfriend, Eleanor and Danielle, and Jade but not Perrie.

  
Louis is talking to them, which makes Harry catch his breath. He didn't know Louis would be here.

  
“Hey,” Harry says when he jogs over. “Erm, I thought you said you didn't want us all to be here at the same time?”

  
Louis nods, smiling brightly at the new addition to the herd of club members. “I know,” he says. “But I changed my mind and asked if everyone could come if they weren't busy already. I figure, why even put on a show if you're only going to half-ass it?”

  
Not knowing what to say to that, Harry only blinks and then nods like he understands.

  
“Yes!” Louis says, jumping up and down, gesturing towards a car pulling up. “First customer!”

  
Harry does not have a fond look on his face, absolutely not. He shows no emotion when Louis traipses over to the car and charms the pants off the first customer. Not literally, or there'd be some problems.

  
When Louis is done talking to the person and steps back, Harry can see that it's a business-looking woman, sipping her Starbucks iced coffee or whatever. (Okay, so maybe Harry could easily and accurately guess what she's drinking if he tried, but he's not going to because that's dumb.)

  
Louis calls all the guys over, frowning and shrugging at the girls. The girls just laugh and pull out their phones, busying themselves until a car with a couple guys in it pulls up behind the business woman.

  
Soapy sponge in hand, Harry starts washing the side of the woman's car. His shirt quickly gets soaked through, which is more uncomfortable than he thought it would be. He almost says 'fuck it' and takes it off, but he's in public and that's probably not considered okay.

  
Harry can definitely see Liam's appeal (it's not gay to admire!), because his biceps are gigantic where the t-shirt is stretching around them. He swears he sees the woman in the car lick her lips when he crosses to the front of the car to wipe down her windshield.

  
“Lou?” the nickname slips off Harry's tongue like a knife through soft butter. An accident, but it does sound good. “Do we even have a hose?”

  
“Yeah,” he says. “I thought so. Niall, it's by your feet over there. Hand it to Haz, yeah?”

  
Harry smiles gratefully when the blonde boy passes it over. He turns the nozzle to the right, water gushing out of it and washing away the ridiculous amount of soap on the woman's car. “Just my side?” he asks, not knowing if he should rinse off the rest of the car too.

  
Zayn tells him to do the whole thing, stepping back a little and plunging his sponge back in the bucket of water. Harry quickly finishes off the car, letting the other guys dry it with a couple towels.

  
The woman thanks them and puts a ten dollar bill in the jar that a smiley Louis is holding out in his arms. The next two cars pass by in much the same way, until Harry's shirt is seriously making it hard to move without cringing, because the sun is beating down on them and it just feels humid. He looks around and then sighs, grabbing the bottom of his shirt.

  
“Woah, Curly,” Louis says with a squeak before Harry can even start to take it off. “What—What are you doing?”

  
Clicking his tongue, Harry says, “It's hot today, yeah?”

  
Louis' eyes widen. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

  
Harry shrugs and then pulls his shirt off just as the next car pulls up. It's full of boys from the next school over, Harry's seen them at parties before. The girls get them. Harry spares a glance at Louis because he's awfully quiet, and muffles a laugh into his fist when he sees him staring intently at his abs.

  
Snapping out of it, Louis shakes his head and says, “It's almost lunch time, if you want to eat with me? I was going to go with them, but...” he gestures towards where Liam and Zayn are currently making out furiously, pressed against the bench the girls had been sitting on, and Niall is on the phone. Harry doesn't grimace at the couple, so he calls that an accomplishment.

  
“Erm, yeah,” Harry says, but when Louis isn't looking, he sends a quick prayer to God, Pastor Andrew's voice a glaring reminder of how wrong his thoughts are.

  
They wash a few more cars after that before Louis and Harry are telling the girls that they'll be back in a bit. They get in Louis' car, because his seats aren't the nicest so it won't matter if they get wet. Deciding on just going to McDonalds, Louis parks the car when they get there, and they try to ring their t-shirts out a little before going inside. Harry's is mostly dry since he'd taken it off earlier, but the Louis' is still soaking.

  
“We look like right fools,” Louis laughs, shaking some wet droplets of water out of his hair. Harry isn't salivating, his mouth is just—fuck. “Should we go through the drive instead?”

  
Harry shrugs, but they decide since they're already out of the car, they may as well just go in. It's late in the afternoon and the lunch rush has already passed, so the building isn't too loud and crowded.

  
Louis orders the food while Harry finds a table. They don't talk until they're both about half-way through their respective burgers. That's when Louis clears his throat and asks awkwardly, “So, have you done any clubs before?”

  
For reasons unbeknownst to Louis, Harry starts blushing furiously. “Erm, chess club?”

  
Barking out a loud peel of laughter, Louis tries to cover his mouth so he doesn't seem completely indecent. Harry frowns and says, “I was a nerdy freshman, alright?”

  
“Didn't even know they still had chess club,” Louis giggles, face glowing with mirth. “But that's it? No other clubs? Shit, if I listed everything I've been in, you'd be bored to tears.”  
“Tell me,” Harry finds himself saying. “I want to know.”

  
Louis looks up from where he's sipping on his soda, eyes sparkling. “Well, I was in the forensics club, which is just like public speaking, and then the forensics science, which is the study of crimes and stuff, and then the High Helpers—a very poorly named club for just, I don't know, students that help people with tutoring and making sandwiches to hand out to the people that didn't bring money for lunch, stuff like that. And—”

  
The sound of a phone ringing cuts Louis off in the middle of his sentence. With minimal grumbling, he fishes it out of his pocket and asks Harry if he minds. Harry shrugs in response, so Louis presses the talk button.

  
Harry can see the happiness draining from his face the second whoever is on the other end speaks. In its place, exhaustion settles itself in Louis' eyes. “Nick?” Louis says quietly into the phone. “I can't talk right now. I'll call you later, yeah?”

  
“No, we're talking now,” the voice on the other end, Nick, says loud enough that Harry can hear it across the table. “Tell me, Louis, why did Eleanor just call to tell me that I'd better get over you because you've moved on to someone else?”

  
“I'm—” Louis starts to say, but stops himself. Then his shoulders stiffen, and he seems more confident. Harry absentmindedly wonders what made him feel that way. “Go fuck yourself, Nick, I'm so tired of your bullshit. We're over. You told me so yourself, and yet you keep fucking calling me like we're still together. Stop calling me, or I'll get a restraining order.”

  
When Louis has hung up the phone and is looking a bit more content, Harry asks him if he'd actually get a restraining order. Louis giggles and says, “No, probably not. Do they even let minors do that?”

  
“Maybe with parents or something,” Harry says. “If he's really bothering you, you should look into it. He sounds like a douche. Sorry! I just mean that—”

  
“No, it's true,” Louis nods. “He is a douche. Think the only reason I dated him is because he's tall.”

  
Harry ignores the I'm tall, I'm tall, Louis, look at me, I'm tall too that's popping up in his head, and nods, shoving the rest of his burger into his mouth to keep from actually voicing his thoughts. When he looks back up, Louis seems to be deep in thought. He's frowning, his eyebrows just slightly creased.

  
“What's wrong?” Harry asks on instinct. He tells himself that it's because he's Louis' friend now, that friends care about each other's well-being and state of mind. No other reason.

  
“Nothing,” he insists. Seeing Harry's frown, Louis says more. “It's just—do you think the only guys I'll ever get are the bad ones?” he sighs. “I mean, I know it'll be different once we're not in school anymore, but. I feel like I'll always be that guy. You know, the one anyone can have but no one wants.”

  
Scrambling for something to say that isn't incriminating, Harry says, so fast the words trip over each other on his tongue, “You're not that guy, I—people want you,” he takes a breath of air and can't bare looking at Louis across the table, because he knows he must seem like he wants Louis. Which is. Ridiculous. “You should—you should respect yourself more. People will treat you how you see yourself.”

  
When Harry finally raises his head, Louis is smiling down at the table. “Yeah,” Louis says. “Who knew you were so wise?”

  
“Oh, you haven't heard anything yet,” Harry says, and then pauses. “Knock knock.”

  
“No!” Louis cries, throwing a chip at him. “You're quite famous for your terrible knock knock jokes.”

  
“They aren't terrible!” Harry insists. “Just let me tell this one, it's great. Knock knock.”

  
“Who's there?”

  
“Cows go.”

  
“Cows go who?”

  
“Cows don't go who, they go moo!” Harry says excitedly, putting his fist in front of his mouth to keep from going wild with laughter. He can tell Louis is only trying to humor him, but he still giggles so Harry calls that a success.

  
“Can't top that joke,” Louis laughs. “So I'm not even going to try.”

  
There's a lull in the conversation while Louis finishes his chips, but then he's looking at the time on his phone and saying, “We should probably get back, yeah?”

  
The car wash is in absolute shambles when they get back, or so Louis says. Harry doesn't really think so, because the only thing going wrong is that the hose has a kink in it somewhere down the line so they have to follow it back and straighten it out again. It only takes ten or so minutes, and only a few customers are lost, but Louis whines like a child the whole time.

  
By the time the last car pulls up for a wash, they've raised a few hundred dollars. Harry isn't sure if they made their goal or not, but he assumes they did because Louis looks pleased while handing the money over to the principal of the school. They're all exhausted and wet, in the least sexy way, but happy because they aren't even going to have to have a second day of this like they'd planned in the meetings.

  
Unfortunately, that means that the next meetings are going to be full of talking about experiences, like group therapy. At least, that's what Harry thinks it's going to be like.  
He actually considers not going to the next meeting, even starts to get in his car, before sighing and making his way back to the school. The same group of people he's used to seeing so often now all make eye contact with him as he walks through the door. He awkwardly sits down in his usual spot, feeling guilty for almost not showing up.

  
“Great, now that everyone's here,” Louis says, pulling out a few things from his bag. “I thought this meeting could be an open forum? Just, um, if you want to talk about something, write it on a sticky note and put it in here. Don't write your name on it or anything, it's all anonymous. And we'll just, erm, talk about it together.”  
Like group therapy, Harry thinks.

  
When the stack of sticky notes gets to Harry, he simply writes down a question mark because he has no idea what the hell he'd want to talk about with a bunch of gay people. On second thought, he erases the question mark and writes: what do you think is a sin? and leaves it at that. Nearly groaning, he realizes that everyone will know it's his question right away, so he erases the whole thing and draws a sad face and another question mark.

  
Louis collects all the sticky notes and shuffles them around in his hands with his eyes closed. Then he picks one at random and reads it slowly, “If you had come out to your parents, how did they take it or how do you think they would?”

  
At first, no one says anything. Harry shifts uncomfortably amid the long silence. Thankfully, Liam says, “Uh, I'll start?” and then, “I didn't tell my parents anything at first, because I knew they weren't so happy about gays being more—common, I guess. Anyway, I didn't even tell them until I met Zayn; I figured there wasn't much point. So I just kind of, uh, came home from school one day and told them I had a boyfriend.”

  
Perrie is the one to ask what happened afterward, which Harry finds funny since she used to date Zayn and probably already knows the whole story.

  
“Took my parents a while, but now I think they'd rather Zayn be their son than me,” Liam laughs, making a face at his boyfriend. “What? Babe, it's true.”

  
A new voice cuts in, louder and more confident, “What about my mums? Could I talk about them?”

  
Louis gives Niall him the affirmative, so he smiles widely. “Well, my mum and dad divorced when I was seven or eight. My dad moved away, so I stayed with my mum. Anyway, one day she told me that her friend was coming to live with us. Obviously, I didn't understand who the woman that showed up was, but my mum was happier so I was too,” Niall says. “They didn't come out to me, but they didn't really have to.”

  
A few more people speak, and suddenly Harry feels his resolve to hate these people slipping. Gays are wrong, he reminds himself. It's true—why else would the church tell him so?

  
“What about you, Louis?” Eleanor pipes up, smiling at him sweetly. With a sort of detached wonder, Harry remembers that she and Danielle were the only reasons he joined this club in the first place. It's funny, really, that he doesn't even know why he's still coming back, long after the amazement of seeing two girls holding hands and saying sweet things to each other has worn off.

  
Louis blushes at all the attention being placed on him at once. “Uh, I didn't get to tell my parents myself, 'cause we all had to share a family computer and I had no idea how to clear the web history. Clearly my little sisters weren't the ones getting PC viruses from watching gay porn, so.”

  
The room busts out in laughter. Though Harry wouldn't admit it, he cracks a smile and maybe chuckles a little. Once everyone calms down and no one else offers their hand for commentary, Louis pulls a new question out of the jar.

  
“Next question: Is it harder for LGBT kids to find a girlfriend/boyfriend?” he reads.

  
This time, no one is too shy to talk, so a few people raise their hands. Louis seems pleased.

  
From all the people answering the question, Harry gathers that it isn't that hard to find a partner at first, but it's harder once you've already dated a few people. He's never even thought about that before, that there are less than ten kids out of the closet at their school, that you'd have to hold on to your boyfriend or girlfriend or else you may be single for a while or have to date someone from a different school. One girl brings up that sometimes she's got to “scrape the bottom of the barrel” just to find a girlfriend, though Harry suspects that was just for a laugh.

  
“Your meeting is about to end,” the scratchy voice Harry hasn't heard in a while interrupts from the back of the room. Honestly, everyone had forgotten they even have a supervisor.

  
Louis jumps a little, eyes flying to where she's sitting. “Thanks, Ms. Jensen,” he says, and then turns to the group again. “Well, I didn't think we'd only get to two questions today,” he laughs, putting the sticky notes into a Ziploc bag. “So I'll save those for a day I run out of things to do. Our next meeting is canceled; I've got a doctor's appointment after school. Anyway, have a nice night, guys!”

  
Everyone disperses, heading towards the parking lot. Harry starts to follow them, but stops when Louis calls his name. When he turns back around, Louis is blushing and looking down at the floor a little too intensely.

  
“Something up?” Harry asks, furrowing his brows.

  
An even deeper blush spreads across Louis' sun-freckled cheeks. It's especially curious, since he's only ever blushed in front of crowds, never with just Harry. “I was just wondering if, uh, you'd maybe want to go see a movie? With me, I mean.”

  
Harry takes a step back, nearly stumbling over on his gangly limbs. Thankfully, he catches himself on the side of a table before he hits the ground. “Like a date?” he asks finally.

  
Seemingly gaining more confidence, Louis shrugs. “If you want it to be, then yeah. A date.”

  
“I should get home,” Harry says quickly, before his mouth can form the words yes, yes, yes. It hurts, seeing Louis' shoulders slump and the sparkle in his eyes dim.

  
Ever the soldier, Louis morphs his face into an emotion something like regret. “Right, yeah,” he whispers, dragging his feet along the carpet until little dirt tracks appear beneath them. “I get it. But, I mean, it doesn't have to be—a date, not if you don't want it to be. It's not like I'm—yeah, it's not like I'm trying to date you or anything. Not that I wouldn't—Okay, yeah, have a nice night, Harry.”

  
Harry feels like someone's just shoved a stick of chalk down his throat, not for the first time since meeting Louis. As he nods at Louis and starts walking out the door, his head spins so badly he's dangerously close to cracking his head on the wall. A date, Louis just asked him on a date. And Harry didn't even have the decency to say no, just walked away. Never in his life has he had to deal with a situation like this—the only people that have ever asked him out were girls, girls that he swears he liked at one point. Even if he's imagined a guy hitting on him, Harry had always thought he'd make fun and laugh about it with his friends, maybe agree to the date just to stand them up, because gays are wrong, especially when they're pushing their sexuality on Harry. Just thinking about doing one of these things to Louis is enough to make his stomach flip over in his gut. Still, he doesn't like Louis, not in that way, at least. So he can't turn back around and tell Louis what he's really thinking, which is something like: sorry, sorry, sorry, I like you, sorry, I care too much about what other people think, sorry, sorry.

  
❤

  
In the weeks that pass between that fateful meeting and the next one, three major things happen. One: Harry watches gay porn—for research, obviously. Two: he sorta, maybe, kinda, likes it. Three: his mum gets out of bed without help for the first time in weeks and catches him watching the gay porn that he sorta, maybe, kinda likes.

  
When it happens, Harry doesn't even have time to process the fact that his mum is _walking_ , by herself, before he's remembering that two men are going at it on his computer screen. He blushes furiously and slams the screen shut, practically throwing the laptop to the other side of the bed.

  
“Mum,” he says breathlessly. The hand that was down his pants shamefully retracts itself.

  
“Sorry, sweetheart!” his mum gasps, shutting the door quickly. From the outside of it, she says, “Clean yourself up, then we'll talk, yeah?”

  
In all his years—which, he'll admit, aren't that many—Harry has never ever been this embarrassed. Not when he peed himself during his first public speech when he was seven, not when he fell from the very top of the stairs on the first day of school, not even when he'd been fooled into eating a 'chocolate bar' that was actually sun-hardened dog shit. There's nothing he can do about his misfortune now except take a huge breath and hope for the best.

  
Nearly shaking with fear, Harry straightens himself out and tries to sit casually on the bed. He figures he'll just pretend she was seeing things, that it was just her medication making her hallucinate. It's so far-fetched that he feels bad instantly, and he knows he'd never be able to lie to her anyway. So he bites his lip and says, “Um,” for lack of anything better.

  
“Decent?” his mum asks and then gives him another ten seconds before opening the door again. She makes her way to the bed, sitting down on it carefully like it may burn her. For a second, Harry thinks it's because she's disgusted with him, but that thought gets shot down when he places a gentle hand on his knee. “Baby,” she says, and then stays quiet for a while. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  
“Nope,” Harry says, popping the 'p' especially hard. “That was—research,” at this, his mum arches an eyebrow but doesn't saying anything. “Anyway, why are you up? Are you okay?”

  
She smiles softly. “Actually,” she says. “Remember when your father and I went to the cancer center a few weeks ago?” Harry's mum waits for him to nod before continuing. “They said the chemo is finally starting to have an effect, and that the cancer cells are dying, basically. I wanted to wait to tell you until the doctor confirmed it.”

  
The bricks that had been stacking on top of Harry's chest since the day his mum got sick are suddenly being yanked off, lightening him to the point where he feels like if his mum's hand wasn't on his knee, he'd float up into the sky and never be seen again. “You're, you're getting better?”

  
“The chances are good, they said.”

  
Harry can't stop the tears, doesn't even try to, as he pulls his mum into an all-encompassing hug. They both shake with sobs until Harry's dad joins the party. It's a bit ridiculous how long they sit and cry with each other—probably an entire hour. Only when they've given themselves ample time to calm down does Harry's dad retreat, saying that he's gotten called into work. That leaves Harry and his mum sitting there, all cried-out.

  
“Harry, you'd tell me if there was something on your mind, yeah?” she asks, dipping down to kiss him on the cheek.

  
The statement makes him cringe. He can't lie to her and he can't deflect the conversation this time. So he sucks up his pride and says, “A few weeks ago, I asked Pastor Andrew,” he pauses for a breath. “If it's a sin to, um, think that some guys are, erm, a-attractive.”

  
“And what'd he say?” she asks, her face morphing into that of the mama bear.

  
“You can put away the claws,” Harry laughs, happy that she doesn't seem disappointed in him. “He just told me that I'm 'using homosexuality as a way to cope with you being sick' or something like that. And that to fix it, I have to pray more, I guess.”

  
Harry's mum thinks for a second and then shakes her head. “You've nothing to fix, baby,” she says finally. “You're perfect the way you are.”

  
Her words ring in Harry's head for the rest of the week. That combined with knowing that she's going to get better has a huge smile pasted on his face no matter what he's doing. The only thing that dims it is remembering Louis asking him out and him saying no. Still, he's already formulated an apology in his mind, he's just got to wait until the next GSA meeting.

  
That's another few days away, though, so it's hardly something he should worry about (that doesn't actually get him to stop worrying). Until then, he busies himself with reading as much about being gay and coming out and accepting yourself as he can possibly fit into a seventy-two hour period. At the end of the day, he's only learned that a vast majority of gays knew they were gay when they were little, which—Harry didn't. He wonders if that means he's not actually gay. Almost immediately after thinking that, he also thinks about the way Louis' eyelashes fan across his cheekbones and so that gets thrown out the window quickly. This revelation causes Harry to sit and stare at his bedroom door solemnly for close to an hour; in fact, he would've done it longer except for his dad insistently calling his name for dinner.

  
It's sort of funny, how when the meeting day does come, it's the first time he's actually got something to contribute to the conversation, except he's too embarrassed to speak up. Telling his mum that guys are attractive was hard enough, let alone telling a whole room of people he knows that he's gay. He can't even imagine. So, instead of letting out what he wants to say, he quietly listens, with half his brain, as Louis excitedly talks about something. Harry can't get past the way Louis' eyes don't seem as bright as they usually are.

  
Not even pretending to pay attention anymore, Harry slips into a daydream until the very end of the meeting, after Louis has given his closing speech and everyone is packing up. He waits until most of them are gone before approaching Louis, like a dog dragging his tail between his legs because he's just been shamed.  
“Hey,” Harry breathes, biting his lip until it hurts too bad and he has to let it go. “Can I—Can I talk to you? About—erm.”

  
Louis sighs and sets down the bag he'd just thrown over his shoulder. “Haz—Harry, sorry—I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not about to force you to do anything; I just thought maybe you'd want to hang out. It's fine, though. I understand that you don't want to.”

  
“Actually,” Harry says, biting his lip again. “If it's still on the table, a movie with you sounds really nice. A date, I mean.”

  
Smiling hesitantly, Louis' face goes soft and his frame relaxes. It's amazing to Harry; he's never actually seen Louis let his guard completely down like this. “Yeah?” he asks, waiting for Harry's nod in response. “Then yeah, Harry, a movie sounds good.”

  
❤

  
A long period of time passes before Harry and Louis talk again. This gives Harry plenty of time to realize what a fucking awful Christian he is. Though he'd like to forget it, he'd spent a whole year of his life getting drunk and having sex, and had only stopped when his mum got so sick she couldn't stand. Surely that was a sign to stop his lifestyle, and he did. But then he'd, for reasons unknown to him, decided to join a fucking gay-straight alliance, which goes against everything his church has ever taught him. Now, he's even going on a date with a guy. When did he become such a sinner?

  
It's unfortunate that Harry decides to have this epiphany while he's dishing mashed potatoes onto his parent's plates, because he almost spills the bowl down his mum's shirt. “Shit,” he mutters, setting the bowl down so he can stop his hands from shaking. He asks, “May I be excused for a moment?” and doesn't wait for an answer before speed-walking to the bathroom.

  
Splashing water on his face doesn't help much, since he can't really wash away his own sins with lukewarm tap water, but it's not for lack of trying. He wishes that he could just forget about Louis, forget about his dumb body, his dumb face, and his dumb, twinkling, so blue eyes. This thought just puts him back on the I'm a terrible Christian train of thought. The pre-marital sex, the lying, gossiping, splurging, using God's name in vain, and—fuck—lusting after Louis.

  
For the first time in his life, Harry starts to question whether he's a real Christian or not. All this time, he's been falsely accusing people of being fake Christians just because they don't go to church often or sin sometimes, when in reality he's the sinner, the fake Christian.

  
But then he remembers when his mum said, “You've nothing to fix, baby. You're perfect the way you are,” and starts to calm down again. His mum is one of the most devout Christian Harry's ever met; surely she wouldn't lie to him about something as important as sinning. So with a deep breath, Harry walks back into the dining room where his parents are sitting. They haven't started eating yet, but they did dish out all the food, even on Harry's plate. He slides into his seat, avoiding his parents' worried eyes.  
“Should I say grace?” Harry's father asks. They all join hands and look down.

  
“We thank you, Heavenly Father, for blessing this food today, for allowing my wife to stay with us on Earth for many years to come,” he pauses, so short that Harry must be the only one who notices, and then continues. “and for shaping my son into a fine young man. In Jesus' name, amen.”

  
Harry doesn't know what to think of it when his father looks up and gives him a meaningful look. For a moment, he thinks that he'll just let it go, but then he's saying, “So, your mom told me something,” with an unidentifiable emotion on his face.

  
The fork Harry was holding clatters on to his plate loudly. A million things run through his head, but nothing he can actually make sense of. Mostly just, shitshitshitshitshit.

  
“Y-Yeah?” Harry stutters, eyes not leaving the table.

 

“Look at me, would 'ya?”

  
This is it, Harry thinks. This is where he'll be kicked out, or forced to leave the church, or at the very least shamed so, so badly. He's already feeling it—the shame creeping up his spine, through every nerve and muscle and bone, like a parasite. There's something wrong with him. Anything right wouldn't feel this bad. Harry is wrong for liking boys.

  
“You know we love you,” his father ends up saying when Harry slowly raises his head. Then he pauses and takes a breath. “Haz, we love you no matter what. We aren't worried about what the bible says—not in this case, anyway. You're a good person and that's all that matters.”

  
❤

  
Harry hasn’t been on many dates, but the ones he has were all with girls, and they all ended with him fucking them in the back of his car, promising to call in the morning and never following through. That isn't what he wants for his date with Louis. He wants Louis to be more than a quick fuck—he wants to be Louis’ boyfriend or something.

  
Never has Harry been so scared for a date in his life. It borders on ridiculous, how long Harry spends in the bathroom on the evening of his and Louis’ date, trying to make his hair look good, his shirt less wrinkled, and his teeth whiter, all to impress Louis, who’s seen him ugly-cry at least once. All in all, it doesn’t make sense that Harry is trying so hard.

  
Even still, he makes sure that he’s wearing his nicest jeans, the ones with just one hole in them, and the only shirt he could find without wrinkles. When he goes downstairs to wait for Louis, his mum is sitting on the couch with his dad, watching some movie he’s never heard of.

  
“Hi, Honey,” his mum smiles. “This just started if you want to join us.”

  
Blushing, Harry says, “Uh, actually, I’m going out. With, uh, Louis.”

  
He worries that it’s too much too soon, that his parents are ready to accept who he is, but not ready to face the fact that he’s actually going out with a guy, but his dad just grunts and says, “Before you two leave, I have to meet him.”

  
“Dad,” Harry starts. On one hand, he’s happy that his dad isn’t upset, but on the other, he’s worried that it’s too soon to introduce Louis to his parents. He doesn’t want Louis to think he’s pushing him to be something serious too soon. “Can’t you at least wait until I see him again? You can’t bring someone home on the first date.”

  
Surprisingly, his dad is willing to compromise and they agree that Louis will only have to meet Harry’s family if the first date goes well.

  
Louis had insisted upon picking Harry up, so all he has to do is wait for him to show up.

  
At 7:00, right on time, Louis’ car pulls into the driveway and before Harry can even get outside, Louis is walking up the sidewalk to the front porch and ringing the doorbell. When Harry answers the door, Louis sheepishly hands him a small bouquet of flowers. “I hope this isn’t too cliché,” he laughs. “But you told me that you’ve never been on a date with a guy and so I assumed you’ve never been properly showered with gifts and I wanted to do the honors.”

  
A deep blush coats Harry’s cheeks, one that doesn’t go away throughout the entire date (which goes wonderfully, of course).

  
Later that night, when Harry is lying in bed and his lips still tingle from where Louis had planted his own lips, he thinks about all the time he spent denying who he really is, all the lies he told himself, all the numerous occasions in which he’d insulted other people—people who were proud of themselves—just to cover up the fact that he felt the same way as them. He thinks about who he was before and who he is now, and he finds that he quite likes who he’s become.

  
❤

  
A few weeks later, after they’ve been on two more dates and Louis has met Harry’s parents and vice versa, the two boys hold hands while they walk to class, and barely anybody cares. It isn’t like the movies, where everyone gasps and stares and points and laughs. Of course, Louis told Harry all of that before they walked in, but it didn’t calm Harry’s racing heart. Only when he saw with his own eyes that no one was going to make fun of them did he start loosening his death grip on Louis’ smaller hand.

  
“See? No one cares,” Louis giggles. “Look, some people even seem happy about it.”

  
“Girls love gay guys,” Harry says matter of factly.

  
“Oh, so that’s your plan? Be with me for a while, just long enough to get the girls interested, and then dump me for one of them?” Louis’ eyes twinkle with mirth, but Harry is still feeling some left over stress and the joke is missed on him.

  
Harry drops Louis’ hand quickly and turns to face him, cupping his cheeks and staring into his eyes. “I would never do that,” he whispers. “I’d never leave you like that.”  
Laughing, Louis dares, “Prove it.”

  
So Harry kisses him, right in the middle of the hallway, while students mill around them and teachers yell at them to break it up.

  
“Better?” Harry asks when he pulls away, resting his forehead on Louis’.

  
“Definitely,” Louis agrees.


End file.
